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Chapter Text

Phryne liked sex. She had never understood why people were so prudish about it, or had quite so many opinions about what she could or could not do with her body.

She liked sex, but for a long time now she had been careful about it, and had certain precautions in place. Lovers were always invited to her own bedroom, never theirs. She generally choose people who were progressive, appreciating a woman who might take the initiative in the bedroom, so that she was free to subtly guide the encounter. A pistol or a knife was always kept within reach. And she made sure to have backup on hand, just in case.

Since she arrived in Melbourne, that backup had been Mr Butler.

Phryne hadn't realised how dependant she had become on her habits until Jack kissed her.

That afternoon Phryne had heard from Dot, after she arranged to go out to the pictures with Hugh, that Jack had a new murder case. Sometimes, Phryne found it very convenient that Dot had chosen to step out with a policeman.

She rang the station at seven o' clock that evening, and said, to Jack's weary hello, that he sounded terrible and had better come round for a nightcap. All of Phryne's household would be out for the evening, and she had no other plans, so some time spent with Jack sounded like just the thing.

Jack arrived a couple of hours later, looking as handsome as ever but worn slightly thin. Phryne steered him towards a comfortable chair and a glass of whisky. She wasn't sure if this was a particularly distressing case, or if there was something else bothering him. Jack always worked too hard, and cared almost too deeply.

Phryne's original plan, that Jack would keep her company and entertain her, now seemed less important than cheering him up. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, and it became clear that she would have to carry the conversation tonight.

Keeping the tone light, Phryne talked about the latest news in the papers, Jane's letters from France, her aunt's latest charity ventures. She watched Jack slowly revive, his eyes brightening and a crooked smile appearing occasionally on his face. The whisky loosened his tongue, and he started to talk a little more animatedly in response.

Then Phryne casually turned the conversation to his latest case. There was a slight smile tugging at Jack's lips as he showed reluctance to give her even the bare bones of the situation, giving her the impression he was enjoying having her persuade him. And she could be very persuasive. Another glass of very good whisky may have been involved. Eventually he smiled more fully, giving in, and invited her to join him at the station the next morning.

After that, they somehow ended up in a spirited debate over whether Phryne would be able to pick a lock with her eyes closed. On a previous case, one which Jack didn't know about, she had managed to pick her way out of handcuffs when they were behind her back, so she gave herself good odds. Before they inevitably tested it out she was rather hoping to get him to wager money on it. She was sure she could whip up a blindfold from somewhere, actually Jack's tie was a prime candidate, and see if she could make him blush.

“Why, Jack, perhaps the subject requires further examination?” Phryne said mischievously. Carefully reaching into her cleavage, holding Jack's eyes the whole time, she withdrew her lock pick and twirled it in front of him. She hadn't been planning on using it today, but keeping it about her person had become force of habit.

“Further examination, Miss Fisher?” Jack's voice was completely serious, but his lips quirked ever so slightly in amusement. “Requiring, I suppose, valuable police resources and a very thorough investigation?”

Holding in a laugh, she tucked the lock pick back where it had come from, and watched Jack's eyes openly follow it. He looked back up at her face and smiled guilelessly.

“Jack Robinson. Are you deeming yourself a valuable police resource?”

Phryne flashed a grin at him, and was pleased to see how light and untroubled his expression was now; a great contrast to his weariness when he arrived.

“I'll have you know my time is much in demand,” Jack said smoothly.

“I see that.” Phryne pointedly eyed the way Jack was leaning casually against the fireplace, glass held loose and comfortable in his hand.

“As a matter of fact, my presence was demanded here tonight.”

“Demanded was it? Why, Inspector, if your time is so precious, I wonder that you could spare it on such an unworthy recipient.”

“Unworthy indeed, Miss Fisher. I can only suggest that you make efforts to improve yourself.”

“And how would you suggest I could be improved?” Phryne asked, her voice low and inviting.

Jack stepped a little further into her space, placing his glass on the mantle and bringing his hand up to catch her elbow. His thumb feathered across the soft skin on the inside of her arm, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Perhaps a lesser tendency towards breaking and entering.” Jack gradually leaned in to whisper into her ear, and Phryne could feel the warmth of his face so close to her own. “Driving within the speed limit. A modicum of respect for the law.” They were practically cheek to cheek now. Her own face heated in response.

“I assure you, Inspector,” Phryne said innocently, not moving an inch, “I have the utmost respect for the law.”

“Then indeed, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, voice growing deeper, “I can find nothing to improve.”

Jack's lips brushed high against her cheekbone; the lightest graze of contact but one which shocked her so powerfully she almost flinched. Phryne reached out a hand as if to steady herself, and it landed on his chest.

“Jack?” Phryne said, disbelieving, and he swept his lips down across her cheek, slow and deliberate, until his mouth met hers. She inhaled rapidly, lips parting instinctively under his, and then she kissed him back. It started gentle, exploratory, and something in her ached sharply in response to it. One of his hands went to her hip, the other sliding around her waist, and he gathered her close to him.

“Phryne,” Jack murmured against her lips. She leaned into him, feeling the press of his body, running her hands up to the back of his collar and tucking her fingertips underneath to feel the warmth of his skin. “Phryne.” The sound of her name on his lips made her feel strangely euphoric. How many times had she imagined him kissing her? How many times had she almost kissed him?

“Jack,” Phryne said breathlessly, and it was invitation and declaration all in one. He pulled back slightly, breathing fast and shallow, and his eyes drank in the sight of her face. The sheer want in his expression made her lean forward to capture his lips with hers again, and one of his hands came up to cup her face and hold her to him as the kiss grew deeper. She slid her hands down, underneath his jacket; running her fingers along the bottom edge of his waistcoat and then tucking them into the back of his trousers. It was his turn to gasp now, to make a noise low in his throat. Phryne wanted to hear it again.

Jack kissed along her jaw, lightly nipping at her skin and she arched her neck back helpfully because that felt wonderful. “Mmm, Jack.” Which encouraged him to press a kiss to her neck, and then another, and then she was pulling him up impatiently to kiss him again, biting lightly at his lower lip until he opened his mouth. And, oh fuck, Phryne thought as his tongue met hers, they'd barely even started and he was driving her crazy.

Jack's hands both cradled her face and he kissed and kissed her until she was dizzy. “Upstairs, Phryne?” he asked in a rasping voice, and heat washed through her. Heat, and unexpected trepidation. A sudden awareness that they were completely alone in the house. Despite herself, she tensed slightly, and pulled back a little. One of his hands dropped to her shoulder, and he watched her movements closely.

“I...” Phryne took a quick breath. “I want that. Very much.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, and smoothed over his bottom lip with her thumb, closing her eyes briefly when he kissed it. “But perhaps not tonight, Jack.”

Not wanting it to be taken as a rejection, she turned her face into his cupped hand and kissed his palm. “Would you be free for the evening tomorrow? We could have dinner?”

Jack's eyes searched hers, obviously surprised at her withdrawal. It felt odd, this reversal of their dance, with him pursuing and her retreating. His thumb stroked across her collarbone, and Phryne felt her resolve crack a little.

“Dinner?” Jack asked. He sounded like he'd just been ravished. Phryne would probably be quite proud of that later. “Yes, I mean, no... I'm working another late shift tomorrow, I'm afraid I won't be able to make it.”

There was a long pause. Their breathing was still quickened from their kisses. Was this just a spur of the moment action? Now that he had stopped to think about it, did Jack regret it? It was unlike Phryne to doubt a man's interest in her. But then, it had never been a case of simple desire between her and Jack.

“But I would very much like to,” Jack continued. “Another night. Have dinner with you.”

Phryne smiled, and let the worries go. “Perhaps on Friday instead then.” Perhaps on Friday she would finally get to see him naked. And more importantly, feel him naked. She looked at him archly and let a little of her anticipation show.

“I very much look forward to it, Miss Fisher.” For all that Jack's words were formal, his tone was still intimate and his mouth was so close. Phryne tilted her chin up to kiss him again, teasing his lips with hers until he seized them in a passionate kiss which left her breathless. His arms wrapped around her waist held her close, and she revelled in the contact between them.

Phryne hadn’t felt this way with a man for a long time; passion, yes, desire, lust. But not such a deep connection and such pleasure in the most simple touches and caresses. Friday would be interesting indeed.

It was hard to see him walk out the door, and harder still to quiet her mind before bed. Phryne had never thought Jack would be the one to make the first move in this game of theirs. But she had certainly long imagined all the things she would do with him if they did ever reach an accord.

Why had she sent him away tonight? Yes, perhaps certain aspects of her usual precautions weren't in place, but then they were for dealing with people who might be unpredictable; who couldn't necessarily be trusted. She knew Jack; he was her partner, her friend. He was quite possibly more concerned for her safety than she was. But it hadn't felt right. It hadn't felt right.

Chapter Text

When Phryne turned up at the police station in the morning, Jack already had a suspect in for questioning.

“Good morning, Hugh,” she called out as she breezed past.

“Ah, Miss, I'm not sure, that is, I should let the Inspector know, if you would just...” And Phryne was through the door to the interview room.

“Morning, Jack,” she said cheerfully. “Mind if I sit in?”

Jack's eyebrows twitched in a way which indicated he was mildly annoyed at her disregard for procedure and decorum, and that she clearly didn't actually have any respect for the law after all. Jack had very communicative eyebrows, Phryne decided.

Hugh stood helplessly in the doorway behind her, one hand on the doorknob, until Jack jerked his head to dismiss him and he closed it behind him.

“Miss Fisher.” There was an undertone of amusement in Jack's voice which relieved any slight uncertainty she might have been feeling over her welcome, and she smiled blindingly at him. Which was possibly not entirely appropriate during an interrogation. It did, however, have the very flattering effect of rendering Jack briefly speechless, and he visibly had to pull himself back on track. “Mr Cartson was seen running from the scene of the crime by our witness, and has thus far proved uncooperative.”

Jack continued to interrogate the suspect, with occasional interjections from her. After the interview, Jack placed the man in the holding cells, but the two of them agreed with a look that Cartson probably wasn't their killer.

Back in his office, Phryne perched on the edge of his desk as he sat down. Giving her a slightly reproving look, Jack reached over to tug at a file she had just sat on. “I do actually keep important work on my desk, Miss Fisher.” She sighed, missing him call her Phryne. “If I may?”

Phryne made him wait for a moment, and could feel a wicked grin spreading uncontrollably across her face. His fingers on the file were quite close to certain portions of her anatomy, after all. Jack steadfastly refused to blush, so she leant back, resting her weight on her arms, and arched her hips just enough that he could slide the file out. He seemed to be entirely unaffected, straightening the file with a small smile, and she pouted.

“So what's our next step?”

“Our next step, Miss Fisher? I hadn't realised you were in any way connected to this investigation?” Jack said.

“Don't be tiresome, Jack. I've come to offer my help.” Phryne could, of course, actually go to seek out the family of the victim and convince them to hire her if necessary. “I'm here as a concerned citizen. One who has noticed that the man you've just put in the cells had boot-black smeared all over the bottoms of his trousers. And if I'm not mistaken-” she snagged the file off his desk and opened it, holding up a hand to halt his objection before he even voiced it. “There! Apparently there were streaks of a black, greasy substance found at the murder scene.”

Jack paused to regroup. “So you think Mr Cartson is our killler, after all?”

“No, Jack, but I think he might know who is. Perhaps it's worth taking another look at the murder scene.”

The murder scene did yield some interesting clues which had been missed in the dull light of twilight, but Phryne had to leave Jack to chase them up as she had an afternoon engagement with her Aunt Prudence. Phryne was twitchy all afternoon; once the thrill of the chase started it was difficult to put it aside and live in the boring, staid world of tea and gossip. Also, she learnt a great deal more about the health of one of her aunt's friends than she had ever needed to know.

If Jack had been there, he would have tilted his head just so, the corner of his mouth would have tipped up, and Phryne would have struggled not to laugh. It was always nice to have someone else who appreciated the ridiculous.

Evening came, with no further news. Phryne had been rather hoping Jack might telephone with an update. The infuriating man probably wouldn't, just to make the point that she was inserting herself into his investigation. She contemplated going down to the station again, but perhaps that would make her look a bit too eager. It wasn't as though she didn't have things to do, after all.

Phryne considered. There were a couple of very exclusive clubs she could visit, and arrange to meet friends there. A friend of her aunt was holding an evening party which Phryne would be welcome at, however belated her acceptance of the invitation. Going out didn't sound appealing today, however, despite her restlessness.

Phryne sat down for a game of cards with Dottie, whom it was all too easy to beat. It was quite fun trying to teach her to bluff and cheat though. Her companion protested, stuttered, and then, when pushed just so far, suddenly became earnestly determined to prove she could do it after all. When Dot won a few hands, she practically glowed. Phryne regarded her with great fondness, and told her she was a card hustler in the making.

Cec and Burt called round after supper, and they all congregated in the kitchen. Mr B had been visiting family the night before, and regaled them with his nephew's and niece's latest adventures

“I said I might pop back around tonight, miss, to drop off some extra supplies?”

“Of course, Mr B.”

Phryne's butler was an excellent employee; discreet and seemingly able to predict her every need. And a very, very good chef. Worth his weight in gold. They had an understanding that if he wasn't needed, he was free to take time to himself. And since Jack wouldn't be visiting, Phryne could fend for herself tonight.

Which reminded her. “I've invited the Inspector over for supper tomorrow night,” Phryne said. She could feel Dot's ears prick up, even as the girl continued to look steadfastly down at her sewing. “I'm sure he's looking forward to your cooking.”

Mr Butler's hands stilled for a moment. “It's always lovely to have the Inspector visit,” he said, and then his eyes met hers briefly. “And will you be needing anything later in the evening, miss?”

“Yes, I think I might,” Phryne said quietly, with a slight nod.

“Very good.”

And that was that. Phryne became most inattentive for a minute at the thought of Jack visiting tomorrow night, but then remembered herself and rejoined the conversation with a laugh.

Not long after Cec and Burt left, Mr Butler headed out. Having finished laying out Phryne's things for bed, Dot came back downstairs to have a cocoa and keep her company while Phryne chose a book. Half an hour later, after tending to the fire in the parlour, Dot went to bed, and Phyrne curled up with a glass of whisky and a novel in her nightclothes and dressing gown.

The knock on the door came at almost ten o' clock, and was entirely unexpected. If it were Mr Butler returning, he would have come in the back door. Phryne couldn't think of anyone else who would be visiting at this time, unless it was regarding a case. Or Jack, her mind added traitorously. She wrapped her robe around herself and opened the door cautiously.

Jack stood there, turning his hat in his hands. His smile and greeting were slightly unsure, probably due to the lateness of the hour. “Jack.” Phryne's stomach flipped pleasantly. “Please, come in.” He looked tired again, and slightly ruffled, which made her want nothing so much as to sooth that look from his face.

Phryne showed him through to the parlour, wondering if this was about the case. The way he sat himself squarely in the middle of her chaise longue and looked up at her with expectation suggested it wasn't. Pouring him a drink, she considered how to proceed.

Normally, Phryne would have been delighted for Jack to find her dressed in her nightwear. She would have found a hundred ways to brush up against him, and made thinly veiled references to 'uncovering' things in order to fluster him. To tease and taunt him with what he had resisted for so long.

Based on yesterday's tête a tête, however, Jack had changed his mind about resisting it. About being with her. With a falling feeling in her stomach, Phryne remembered that Mr Butler was still out for the evening – and this was late for a visit with his family, so perhaps he was staying the night. It shouldn't matter. It didn't matter. She no more wished to turn Jack away again than to stop the moon in it's orbit. There was no need to wait until tomorrow.

Phryne sat sideways in the corner of the couch with her legs tucked up, idly letting her toes creep over to rest against the outside of Jack's thigh. Bare feet, very risqué. Taking a sip of her drink, she looked up at him from under her eyelashes. He was smiling easily at her, and she felt herself smile involuntarily in response. Jack's smiles were usually so rare, it was marvellous to think she could prompt them so effortlessly.

“I think you may have misplaced something,” Jack said, and his hand dropped to rest lightly on top of her foot. Her breath hitched as desire shot through her unexpectedly, which was ridiculous because it was only her foot. Phryne had been seduced by some of the most beautiful and skilled men on several continents, and wasn't sure she'd ever felt aroused so quickly by such a simple touch. Unable to look away, she watched closely as he swept his fingers back and forth slightly, and felt the corresponding tingle it sent through the rest of her body. She licked her lips absently.

“Miss Fisher?”

Suddenly aware she'd been caught daydreaming, and seeing Jack's smile broaden, Phryne replied quickly, “No, I think everything is right where it belongs. And how many times must I ask you to call me Phryne?”

“Why, that would be quite improper, Miss Fisher,” Jack said agreeably.

With no prior warning, he suddenly, purposefully, tickled her toes. She squealed in a very unladylike manner, almost dropped her glass, and kicked him in the thigh. Hard. Entirely discomposed, robe askew, she glared at him.

Jack held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender, looking not at all remorseful.

“Very well, Inspector, I shall be more mindful of my property next time,” Phryne said, hopefully in a suitably injured tone. It probably came out more high-pitched than she would have wished.

Carefully placing her drink on the table behind her, Phryne withdrew her feet, pulling her knees up to her chest. Jack caught one foot in his hands, however, and, when she moved as though to kick him again, “Peace, Phryne!”

Phryne stared at him suspiciously for a moment, though she could already feel a slight smile tugging at her mouth. How mischievous of him! His hands felt very warm cupped around her foot, and, after a moment of no further hostilities, she subsided back into the cushions and carefully straightened her robe where it had flicked open revealingly over one thigh. She let her fingers linger on her skin as she did so, feeling arousal at the thought of him watching her.

“Phryne,” Jack said huskily, and this time she thought it might be just for the pleasure of saying her name. For a moment she didn't trust her own voice to reply.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?” Phryne asked eventually, and brought one hand up to slowly trace the collar of her robe. Her fingers trailed over her collarbone and downwards, and she imagined they were his.

“I didn't want to wait until tomorrow to see you again. I've been thinking about you all day.” Jack's fingers ran gently over the top of her foot again, firmly enough not to tickle, but she shivered nonetheless.

“I've been thinking about you too,” Phryne said. “I've been thinking about how it felt when you kissed me.” His eyes dropped to her lips, struggled back upwards, and then returned to her lips again.

“You kissed me back,” Jack said, and she laughed, the tension broken, at this reminder of the aftermath of their first kiss in Café Republique.

“And I'm not here to apologise,” Phryne said happily, as his fingers glided up to caress her ankle. He had very, very nice hands, she thought distractedly.

“Phryne,” Jack began. “May I-”

He shook his head ruefully, and then leant forward and kissed her. One of his hands came up to cradle the back of her head, the other smoothed a path from her shoulder down her back. Phryne kissed him back enthusiastically, her hands going to his arms, and she could feel the strength of them under her fingertips. The thought of seeing those arms bare again, as she once had at the beach, was extremely appealing.

The hand on her back shifted to support his weight on the couch, and he tilted Phryne backwards until she was lying almost completely under him, never breaking their kiss. Her legs parted instinctively, hips arching up wantonly, and he pressed against her with a stifled moan. She managed to untuck his shirt from his trousers, skipping all other layers of clothing, just so that she could get her hands underneath and touch his skin. He was so smooth, and warm, and hers.

“Phryne,” Jack said roughly, and it sounded like he was going out of his mind. “Phryne!”

One of his hands slid down, brushing teasingly over the curve of her breast and making her gasp into his mouth. It was only when she felt him tug at the belt of her robe that she pulled her mouth away from his and whispered, “Jack, stop!”

Chapter Text

She didn't even realise she'd said it for a moment. Jack had gone completely still, his breathing harsh against her cheek, his hand fisted against her belly.

Phryne stared out across the room for a moment as though the far wall held the secrets of the universe. She had told him to stop. She closed her eyes, and felt her body thrum in frustrated anticipation; his hips were still locked with hers, she could still feel him hard against her thigh. Fuck.

“Sorry,” she murmured, and turned her head to kiss him again. Jack pulled back almost instantly, however, rising on his elbows to look down at her. She felt him brush the hair back from her face, felt his fingertips feather across her closed eyelids.

“Phryne?” Jack asked roughly, and he sounded completely undone.

Her hands were still resting snugly under his shirt, and she carefully extricated them and brought them up to his shoulders. She could feel the tension in his muscles as he held himself above her.

Phryne opened her eyes. Jack's pupils were blown, completely black with desire. His expression was dazed, his hair tousled. She reached up to smooth it unthinkingly.

“Jack,” she started, and trailed off. Asking him to stop could have been easily followed up with a 'not here, let's go upstairs,' or a laughing 'you're wearing too many clothes,' and he wouldn't have thought it odd. Now too much time had passed.

They stayed clasped together for a moment, breath intermingling, and then Jack broke away. He pushed up and slid back, until he was kneeling between her legs. Phryne's slip had ridden up, and nothing but her knickers protected whatever modesty she had left. He gently gathered her robe and tugged it to cover her, and her hands came up to meet his and hold them.

Jack looked at her for a long moment. “What is it, Phryne?”

“Nothing,” Phryne said, and squeezed his hands. “Nothing is wrong, Jack. I just...”

She'd not had this problem with a lover before, because in the last eight or nine years they had always been dalliances at her beck and call. Phryne had made it very clear to any man she was interested in that they would come to her house when invited, do as she wished, and leave again. If ever one attempted to surprise her, or invite her back to their rooms, she could merely laugh it off as inconvenient. She couldn't do that with Jack, because he was too much a part of her life. Because she didn't want to.

Jack waited a moment longer, as if willing her to say more. Then he exhaled slowly, and pulled his hands away, resting them in his lap. “Talk to me,” he said.

Phryne had trusted Jack with her life before; she'd talked to him about the war, about her sister and Murdoch Foyle, and yet, somehow, here words failed her.

“I was just... I thought that we were having dinner tomorrow. I just wasn't prepared for you tonight.” Phryne might have accidentally put the slightest emphasis on prepared, and he looked puzzled for a moment before his eyes widened.

“Phryne. If this is about-” Jack paused awkwardly, “-family planning, or because there are other considerations-” and Phryne would have laughed at his attempt at delicacy if there wasn't a lump in her throat the size of a tennis ball, “-then we can work around it. I'm happy to help, or wait, or...” His mouth opened and then closed again without saying anything further, as he tried to work out what might be involved and how he might be expected to help with it.

“No, that's not why,” Phryne said quietly. It occurred to her only after she'd started speaking that actually that would have been an excellent excuse. It felt wrong to use excuses with Jack though. Things would never work between them like that.

“I was making assumptions...” Jack trailed off. “I mean, obviously you...” He stood up, shirt untucked, jacket half off, looking as though Phryne had just debauched him utterly. She stared up at him from the couch, and felt like everything was going horribly wrong.

“Jack, it's just that tonight wasn't-” Convenient, her mind whispered, but then you said you would never say that to him. “I just can't-”

What? Trust him? How could she explain this to him when she felt so unsure of her own reasoning. When had she grown so reliant upon the crutch of Mr Butler's presence? Jack was the last man on earth who would ever offer violence to a women, let alone one he cared for. So why was she reacting like this?

“We're here all alone,” Phryne said eventually, as if this explained everything.

“Yes?” Jack said patiently.

“Dottie's in bed.”

“Yes.”

“Mr Butler's not here.” Her voice cracked slightly.

“No.”

“Jack, I-” Frustrated with herself, Phryne sat up, withdrawing to the end of the couch. “Mr Butler's not here,” she found herself repeating. She gathered the top of her robe together with one hand and leant her head against the back of the seat, feeling completely drained. It was as though the unexpectedness of her own reaction had sucked all of the energy out of her.

“Phryne?” Looking utterly bewildered, Jack ran a hand through his hair, took a pace away and then turned to face her again. “I don't understand.”

“Well after you said you wouldn't be able to make it tonight I gave him the night off,” Phryne said automatically, any semblance of control over what came out of her mouth having apparently deserted her.

“Phryne,” Jack said, and she could hear the control he was exerting to keep his tone even. “What has Mr Butler got to do with anything?”

Phryne considered cutting her losses. She could claim she wasn't feeling well, and show him to the door. She could try and kiss him again, to distract him, although based on the last attempt that seemed unlikely to work.

“I don't know what to say,” she said quietly.

It felt as though they stayed like that forever; Jack standing over her, she with her head bent, feeling uncommonly lost.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, and there was such pain in his voice. It reminded her of the time he had told her that he'd thought she was dead, that it had been unbearable. She could not bear being the cause of it, of this man thinking she did not want him.

She hesitated, tried to speak and found she couldn't. Instead she shook her head, and felt an unwanted tear slip down her face. Jack gazed at her steadily, and then cautiously sat back down beside her. The gap of space between them felt like a wall.

Maybe he thought she was worried about how this would change their partnership. Or that she already had another man coming tonight; one already here, even. Maybe he thought she was running from her feelings.

Phryne reached out and clasped one of his hands. Somehow, the contact between them made things less difficult again. “This would really have been so much easier if you had just come tomorrow instead,” she said wistfully.

“I can do that,” he said, quiet and sincere. And he would, if she asked him to. But then what about the next time, and the time after that; because Jack would inevitably turn up unannounced and she didn't want that to stop.

“Will you just sit here with me for a while?” Phryne managed, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Of course.”

She scooted herself around so that her feet were on the ground, then slowly leant sideways until her head rested on Jack's shoulder. He shifted to place a gentle kiss on her hair, the gesture all the more wonderful for how unthinkingly he seemed to have done it, and then stayed with his head against hers.

Phryne thought about having this, this closeness, all of the time. It had been years since she had been in anything approaching a relationship, because the idea of anyone else having power over her – especially emotionally – had proven to have flaws in it she hadn't been willing to countenance. And yet she'd long understood that Jack would not be interested in anything more casual. He had let her see his interest a thousand times, but then never taken her up on any of her invitations. When she had kissed him back yesterday, when she invited him for dinner and when she poured him a drink tonight, she knew what it was that he wanted. Somewhere along the way she'd decided that maybe she was willing to compromise her stance on commitment, because he was worth it.

Was it worth it, though? Was it worth the uncertainty, worth feeling so exposed? Worth wondering if he would turn around and start making demands, start saying that if she loved him she would stay away from investigations?

“You remember René Dubois,” Phryne started, and his grip on her hand tightened.

“I do,” Jack said. She had never spoken to him about it, not even telling him that she and René had been lovers, although she was sure he had worked it out.

“Jack, I-” and Phryne's throat tightened. Actually she'd never spoken about this to anyone, aside from a few drunken half-confidences to Mac.

Perhaps she was going about this all wrong. “You know that I've taken other lovers?”

“Yes,” Jack said gruffly. She resisted glancing up to see his face.

“Well...” Phryne huffed out a breath, and decided to just say it. “There are things that I prefer not to do in bed, Jack.” After a moments pause, she added, “and so when I have someone visiting, I ask Mr Butler to stay nearby, in case I need him to ask someone to leave.”

“Why wouldn't you just ask them to leave yourself?” Jack asked, and perhaps he could guess the answer, because there was an edge to his words.

“Well,” she said flippantly, “Men don't always listen. Let's just say I find it hard to trust in certain situations.”

She thought about René again, the ways that he had controlled her and hurt her. The fact that to start with she had stayed with him despite it all, until one incident too many had her find a way out. She thought about other incidents over the years which had reinforced her distrust in men. There was a reason she tended to keep a dagger in her garter belt.

Unfortunately, it was entirely possible she would have already been divested of her garter bed, and unable to easily reach another weapon, before she realised she was in trouble.

“Phryne, you know that I would never do anything to hurt you.” Jack's voice was raw and shaking.

“I know that.” She did know that. She really did. This was Jack Robinson. And she knew that he loved her. Her Jack. He nuzzled gently against her hair. “But I can't-” Her voice wavered for a second. “I just like to know that someone's there if needed.”

“What do you do?” Jack asked.

“Well, say if I suggested we not do something, and a man was insistent, or wouldn't take me seriously...” Which had happened only a couple of times since her arrival in Melbourne, and both had been dealt with swiftly and easily. “Then I might say I thought I heard something, and call out 'Mr Butler, is that you?'”

“He would wait outside your room?”

“Yes. He knows when I'm expecting company, and he's been wonderful. If I call out to him he knocks on the door and asks if I need anything before he retires. At which point I can graciously ask my guest to leave, and tell Mr Butler to show him out.”

“Graciously,” muttered Jack.

“I'm always gracious, Jack,” she said.

“What is-” Jack took a deep breath, and seemed to reconsider what he was going to say. “So... if I had come to dinner tomorrow, and stayed, Mr Butler would have been there and I would never have had any idea.”

“Yes,” Phryne said softly.

“And that's the reason you wanted to stop yesterday?” Jack said in a revelatory tone. “Because Mr Butler wasn't here to stand guard? And today?”

“I don't – yes, that was why I wanted to wait yesterday. Today, I thought – I thought what did it matter, when it was with you.”

“But then you asked me to stop.”

“Yes. And trust me, I regretted it,” she said with a note of her usual flirtation. “I do want you, Jack, very much.”

“But you wanted it to be tomorrow, when Mr Butler was here. And what about the next time, would it have to be another scheduled arrangement? Or was there never to be a next time for you? Am I just the latest in a long chain?” Phryne flinched slightly at his tone, and knew he felt it as his thumb rubbed a circle of apology against her upper arm.

“I suppose I hadn't really got as far as next time yet, though I want there to be one” she said ruefully into his shoulder. “I was rather surprised that you started this at all. Happy, but surprised.”

Jack gave half a laugh. “And here I thought you were confident that you were irresistible.” He was silent for a minute, then, “What about when you meet someone elsewhere?”

“I don't.”

“But I've seen you-”

“No, you haven't. You might think you've seen a lot of things, but believe me when I tell you that several of them probably never happened.”

Phryne looked up, and he seemed pensive. Reaching up, she ran her fingers across his brow and down his cheek. He closed his eyes when she touched him, exhaling shakily.

“What if-” Jack cleared his throat, swallowed. “What is it that you don't want me to do? Tell me, and I won't do it.”

Ah, and if only it were that simple. Still, an opportunity to make Jack Robinson blush was never to be passed up.

“Well,” Phryne said, “Let me see. I don't like it if someone pins me and won't let go if I ask. I don't like it if they put their hand over my mouth, and I can't breathe. If they pull my hair while they've got their-”

“Christ, Phryne, stop!” She stopped. Jack hadn't blushed, instead he was upset. And she hadn't even said anything explicit yet. He pulled back slightly and ran his hand through his hair again in agitation.

“You asked,” she grumbled petulantly.

“I wouldn't do those things to you,” Jack said, sounding wrecked. “I would never ask you to do something you didn't want to do. And I would always,” and here he caught her chin and turned her head so that she could see how serious he was, “Always stop if you asked me to.”

“I know,” Phryne said. Jack was searching her face for something and she couldn't tell if he found it. “I want to make love to you, Jack.” She didn't know how to articulate what had stopped her.

He tucked her head back underneath his chin, and left her to contemplate the fact that she was scared, and hadn't even realised it. She had always been the kind of woman to confront her fears – even knowing that one existed was usually enough to spur her to overcome it. She'd never seen this as a fear though, merely practicality.

After a while Jack shifted slightly against her, and said, “Phryne, I understand that you have reasons for not trusting.” His fingers came up to caress her face. “But I don't think I could live my life knowing that Mr Butler was standing outside the bedroom door, listening and waiting for me to make a mistake.” Phryne opened her mouth to object, to say that's not how it would be. “Maybe we need to think about things a little more. But I'll come for supper tomorrow night as planned,” he finished, and the emphasis let her know that he expected everything would stay as she had planned.

“Yes,” Phryne said, feeling strangely detached, as though she was on autopilot to get past the turmoil in her heart. “I'll see you at eight for supper then.”

They parted awkwardly and reluctantly – Phryne found it incredibly difficult to let go of his hand as they said goodbye at the door but at the same time felt almost crushing relief to be alone with her thoughts.

She went back into the darkened parlour, and sat in Jack's spot so that she could feel the lingering warmth from his body. She spent a few long minutes thinking over everything that had been said, regretting much of it. Regretting the honesty, and the vulnerability she had allowed herself to show him. Then she stood, determinedly shaking it off, and headed for bed with a sway to her step as she considered Jack being there with her tomorrow evening.

Chapter Text

Phryne turned up at the police station again the following day of course, this time with biscuits, because Jack never had caught her up on the case. She waved the food in front of her like a peace offering, and the exasperated fondness on his face was beautiful to see. There was a look she couldn't quite identify in his eyes, but things didn't seem uncomfortable between them from the night before.

Jack interrupted every question she asked about the case with an answer before she got past the first few words of it. Eventually she huffed and sat on his desk to one side of him. Phryne had made sure to wear a skirt which would ride up over her knees today with this exact moment in mind. Her Aunt P. would have been beside herself. Given the way Jack's gaze kept straying to her legs, he might soon be beside himself too.

“Honestly, Jack. You won't let me get a word in edgeways!”

Jack rallied his eyes away from her hemline. “Could it be a sign that you are becoming more predictable, Miss Fisher?” he asked glibly.

“Never!” Leaning over towards him, Phryne smirked. “Perhaps it is a sign that I have finally trained you up right, instead,” she said.

“Well, I would hate to think of all your hard work going to waste.”

Phryne dragged the information out of him and went to 'interview' someone on a hunch. She always had very good hunches. She didn't even have to misappropriate any evidence this time; Jack got so tetchy when she did that. That hunch led to another, and a possible murder weapon hidden in a potted plant beside the victim's outhouse. Phryne considered the situation for a long moment, decided nothing would be gained by the police seeing it on site, and scooped up the suspiciously stained trowel in a handkerchief.

Prize delivered to the station, and having received one of Jack's 'I can't possibly congratulate you for this but good work and now please never interfere in my investigations again' looks, she traipsed happily home.

Phryne fussed over her boudoir, checked her contraception case, choose lingerie, choose her outfit, fussed over the parlour, and changed her mind about both the lingerie and what she was going to wear over it. Then she wandered through to the kitchen and sat to watch Mr Butler work. She would have offered to help, just to have something to do, but she knew he would never agree to it.

He let her sit in silence for some time as he prepared the vegetables, before asking, “Everything alright, miss?”

“What? Oh, yes, of course. Thanks, Mr B.” He continued to shell peas quickly and efficiently. “Mr B.?”

“Yes, miss?”

Phryne tried to think back to how she first involved him in her intimate affairs. Nothing had ever been explicitly stated. She was pretty sure that she had said something along the lines of 'I'll have male company tonight, would you mind being close to hand if they get too rowdy, Mr Butler?' At the time he'd already struck her as dependable and trustworthy, and she hadn't thought twice about asking. Back in England she'd been living with a friend who had been quite happy to set up a reciprocal, though far more lax, arrangement.

She certainly hadn't expected Mr Butler to actually camp out outside her door. The first time she'd come tumbling out in the middle of the night to find him standing vigilantly a little further down the hall, and realised he'd been there the whole time, she'd been warmed right down to her toes. The first time she'd needed to call for his help – a situation which hadn't quite gone wrong but which was making her uncomfortable – and it had come promptly, discreetly and with no repercussions afterwards, she could have hugged him. Phryne had never really given much thought to how he might feel about it though, after his initial acceptance.

“Do you ever-” Phryne wasn't sure how to phrase this. “Ever mind waiting up for me, Mr B.?”

“Of course not, miss. It's my job.” Mr Butler gathered the discards together in a pile.

“I'm fairly sure it isn't, Mr B.,” Phryne said wryly.

Mr Butler looked her in the eye. “Yes,” he said deliberately. “It is.” Obviously considering that to be the end of the matter, he turned to the stove.

“Jack came around last night after all,” Phryne said, before she could think the better of it. She saw Mr Butler's shoulders tense slightly. He was a wondrously caring man.

“Oh?” Mr Butler said evenly. “Did he stay for long?”

“A little while,” Phryne admitted, trying to feel her way through this conversation, “But no, not for long.”

“Very good, miss.”

“We talked,” Phryne continued. “About why I didn't want him to stay for longer.” She propped her chin up on her hand. “He tried to understand, but I think it was difficult.” Difficult for both of them.

Jack's words haunted her, that he couldn't do this if she didn't trust him. The reverse was also true, of course, why on earth was getting entangled with him if she didn't trust him enough to be alone with him without a safety net? She wouldn't have the comfort of never seeing him again, and one of the things she suspected had kept them apart for so long was a reluctance on both sides to wreck the relationship they already had.

Things were quiet in the kitchen for a while, interrupted by Dot coming in the back door with a parcel and giving them both a quick greeting on her way upstairs.

“But the Inspector is still coming tonight?”

“Yes, Mr Butler,” Phryne said, mind suddenly far away. “He'll be here tonight.”

Mr Butler showed Jack straight through to the dining room when he arrived, and Phryne stood with a cocktail glass in her hand and admired him. She loved the way he looked in his three piece suit. “Good evening, Jack.”

Jack cleared his throat and seemed to make an effort to stand at ease. “Good evening, Miss Fisher. The lads at the station were very grateful when I shared the biscuits you bought earlier.”

Phryne laughed. “The lads at the station were taking you for all you were worth, Jack, since they were given biscuits of their own.”

“Ah.” Jack moved towards the table, and rested his hands on the back of the dining chair. “It's just as well that I have such an excellent supper to look forward to then.”

Mr Butler returned and asked if they would like to be seated. Phryne had planned for them to eat there, to light a few candles and see if she could sneak her foot inside the bottom of Jack's trousers. She was struck by a sudden thought though. “Jack,” she asked. “Would you rather eat in the kitchen with the others?” She knew Dot and Mr Butler would be eating the same fare as soon as was served in here tonight. It was not an offer she would have made to any other man who had ever joined her for dinner, but then Jack actually knew and liked the members of her household.

Jack hesitated, apparently stymied. She weighed the pros and cons. In the kitchen was less formal, less intimate, and let him know that she considered him as part of her life. However, now that she thought about it, there was the potential for him to feel very awkward with Mr Butler. Out here was more romantic, with more time for personal talk – she wasn't sure if that was a pro or a con at this point.

The decision was made for her. “I'll set an extra two places in the kitchen,” Mr Butler said, and withdrew.

“Sorry, Jack,” Phryne sighed. “I spoke without thinking. I won't be able to do half the things I had planned for you if we're in the kitchen.” Jack coloured slightly, and she forcibly stopped herself from commenting further. Making him uncomfortable was not her goal tonight. “Shall we go through?”

They sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table, Phryne next to Dot. They ended up speaking mainly about the case, with her gesticulating wildly to emphasise her points and arranging the potatoes on her plate to represent the particulars of the crime as she talked. Jack's expression grew more and more fond, and she struggled to keep her eyes away from his face as the meal went on.

Afterwards, Phyrne and Jack retired to the parlour as Dot and Mr Butler cleared the table. “Well, Jack, do you consider yourself compensated for the biscuits?” she asked cheerfully.

“I am quite satisfied, Miss Fisher.”

“My, and so early in the evening, Inspector.” Phryne raised a suggestive eyebrow at him.

“Surely a sign of the quality of the company.”

“I only allow the very highest quality in my house, Jack, you know that.” He smiled, and nodded an acknowledgement. “Now if only we had-” She turned, and Mr Butler was there with a decanter and two glasses. “Ah, excellent, Mr Butler. Thank you!” He shut the parlour door as he left.

Jack poured them both a drink, and then moved to sit in one of the armchairs. Not what she'd had in mind – thwarted by lack of manoeuvring space. Although... Phryne looked at him, at the way he had sprawled, limbs loose, expression confident as he eyed her over the top of the glass. Perhaps he just had something else in mind.

She sashayed over to him, and leaned forward as she placed her glass down on the table, ensuring he got a hint of cleavage. He didn't bother trying to hide the fact that he looked. Excellent. That done, she hitched up her skirt slightly and straddled his lap. It would have been easier with trousers, but then trousers barred other possibilities. Settling back, she sat comfortably on his thighs and rested her hands on his chest - ostensibly for balance.

“Hello, Jack,” she said softly, and he took a sip of his drink and said nothing. Still her move then. She slid her hands slowly up his chest, relishing the slightly rough texture of his shirt under her fingertips. Phryne had always had a fascination with his ties, especially with the idea of undoing them, and she traced over the knot now with a great deal of predatory satisfaction. Her fingers gradually eased the tie loose, taking her time, keeping eye contact with him. As she flicked the first button of his collar open she couldn't help but run her forefinger underneath it, and she saw his pupils dilate rapidly.

“Phryne.” One of his hands came up to capture hers, stilling her movements. She heard the clink of his glass being set down, and then his other hand was resting on the small of her back. “Before we... I wanted to say something.”

“I don't really want to talk, Jack,” she whispered, swaying forward until their lips were almost touching.

“Oh, but you'll like this, Miss Fisher.” She pulled back slightly to rebuke him for not using her first name, and saw his lips twitch. “I suggest we play a game.”

“A game,” she asked, diverted. “What kind of game?” With a come-hither look, she added, “I know plenty of games.”

“I'm sure you do,” Jack said. “I had a very particular one in mind. In this game,” he swallowed, and her eyes followed the motion, “I have to tell you everything I want to do to you before I do it. And I can't do it unless you say yes.”

Her free hand came up to touch his face, stroking across his cheek as she thought. He waited patiently. “And what happens if you break the rules, Jack?”

“Then I would have to pay a forfeit, Miss Fisher. Of your choosing.” A smile danced over her face at that – she could think of a lot of very interesting forfeits, both personal and professional, and, by the slightly rueful cast of his face, so could he.

She leant in and brushed her lips against his once, twice, slowly, tortuously. He didn't move, although his breathing became shallow, and his hand squeezed hers slightly where it was still pressed against his chest.

“You don't need to do this, Jack,” Phryne said seriously.

Jack's mouth curved. “Don't tell me you're turning down a challenge, Miss Fisher?” It stirred her spirit exactly the way he had no doubt intended it to, and she bit lightly at his jaw. His fingers flexed slightly against her back, but he didn't move them. Actually, he hadn't moved since his suggestion, which presumably meant he was already adhering to the rules.

“Of course not. Play away.”

He considered for a moment. “May I touch your face?”

Phryne pretended to think it over. “With what, Jack?” She arched an eyebrow wickedly.

He brought his hands up in front of him and wiggled his fingers. “With my hands.”

“Well, I suppose that would be acceptable.”

Jack smiled affectionately, and cupped her face in his hands. “The other thing I wanted to say is that I love you,” he said easily, as though he were talking about the weather. Phryne startled slightly, the words and her reaction to them both unexpected. She had been fairly certain from his behaviour that Jack loved her, but hearing the words said sent a visceral jolt of apprehension and elation through her.

No one had said that to her and really meant it since René, and with him it was almost more about possession than actual love. Since then, she hadn't let anyone get that close – all the pretty men who had said they loved her didn't know her well enough for it to mean anything more than infatuation.

Focusing back on Jack, Phryne wasn't sure how long her attention had wandered. He watched her with outward composure, hands still cradling her face, but she sensed he was less calm underneath. “Oh, Jack,” she breathed, “I-” Jack placed a finger against her lips to hush her, and she was absurdly grateful since she wasn't sure what would have come out.

Still... “Those are my lips, Jack,” she said against his finger.

“I can see that,” he said. “Your lips, which are part of your face.”

“Well, my face is part of the rest of me, and yet you still asked for permission to touch that specifically.”

“I see,” Jack said. “Then perhaps we need to agree the technicalities. For example,” and he moved to whisper directly into her ear, “is your nipple considered part of your breast, or do I need to ask separately when I wish to touch you there?”

“Jack!” Phryne exclaimed, thrilled by his boldness and the small grin she saw as she leaned back on his lap. Her mind was very pleasantly occupied by the thoughts his words had conjured. “I'm not sure,” she said mischievously, “Perhaps you need to further illustrate your example.”

“Well, I might ask, 'May I touch your breasts?'” Jack's eyes were very dark as he looked at her, and the raw desire in his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Would I then, a minute later, need to ask if I could tease your nipples between my fingers, and circle my thumbs around them?”

Phryne couldn't speak for a moment; sudden, molten arousal flashing through her at Jack's voice saying such things. “May I kiss you?” she asked, unthinkingly, forgetting for a moment which side of the game she was on.

“Always,” Jack said, and she covered his mouth with her own.

Before things went much further, she excused herself for a moment and wandered back to the kitchen. Dot had made herself scarce already, but Mr Butler was there drying glasses.

“Mr Butler.”

“What can I do for you, miss?”

“Actually, Mr B., I think I've got everything I need for tonight.” Phryne played with the beading on her sleeves. “So you needn't wait up.”

Mr Butler set the last glass down on the table. “If you're sure, miss?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr Butler,” Phryne said. “I'm quite sure.”

And then she went to rejoin Jack.

Long after he thought she was asleep, Phryne heard Jack get up and pull his trousers and shirt on. She stayed as still as possible, curious. As he slipped out of the door to the hallway he left it open a crack, and she carefully eased out of the bed and moved to follow him. She was brought up short when she heard voices, however.

“Good evening, Mr Butler.”

“Inspector.”

“I thought I might find you here.”

“Indeed, sir. After all the break ins and thefts we've had, I like to do a check on everything late at night.”

“I just wanted to say that I appreciate how you've been looking out for... the household.”

“It's my job, sir. And my honour to do so. Though I am glad to hear that perhaps you will be able to take over monitoring the safety of some of it.”

“It is not a charge I would ever take lightly, Mr Butler. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”